He nodded. “The big Victorian mansion with a view of the river. Massive.”
“That’s it. It’s a museum now, donated to the city by Brady’s father before he died. It’s closed for the winter, but pretty damn impressive. My point: Brady Long was a major player in these parts. Married and divorced a couple of times, no kids, and single when he died. He had a girlfriend, Maya something or other, I think, and she claimed that they were engaged at the time of his death, but that was unproven. Again, no children. It’s pretty damned unlikely that anyone who had an affair with him, especially one that produced a kid and heir, would keep quiet about it.”
“Could be Mays’s mother was paid off—you know, one of those ‘Do Not Disclose’ agreements to keep quiet.”
“Could be she and her son aren’t legit.” Alvarez kept to her side of the argument, wondering where the hell this was going. Hearing the distinctive click of Joelle Fisher’s ever-present high heels in the hallway, Alvarez glanced toward the open door. The shift had changed and the station was beginning to fill with office staff, deputies, and detectives.
“Santana? As in Detective Pescoli’s husband?”
“That’s right. He knew Brady Long and his sister when they were growing up, at least I think so. Pescoli mentioned it, but you’d have to ask her. Or Santana.” She rolled her chair back and eyed Ramsby as her computer dinged, indicating she’d just received a new e-mail. “Why all the interest?”
“It’s a mystery. Is he the unknown son? Is he a con artist? A grifter? What’s the real story?” He slashed her an off-center smile that probably had broken its share of hearts. “Come on, Detective, aren’t you curious?”
“Mildly.”
“Of course you are; we all are. Otherwise it wouldn’t be on the front page of the Reporter.”
“Maybe it’s just a slow news day, er, week for the paper. This is Grizzly Falls, not Chicago or New York.”
He laughed. “I suppose you’ve got a point.”
“And this guy, Mays? He’s not the first, you know,” she said. “There have been others who’ve laid claim to the estate. It’s been in limbo for several years. Ever since Brady died. Tied up in the courts. That’s what happens when a lot of money’s at stake.”
He shrugged, obviously not completely convinced. “The reason this is different is that Mays has already taken a DNA test and hired a hotshot attorney out of Helena. He swears the DNA will prove that he’s Long’s son.” He smiled wistfully. “Wouldn’t that be somethin’? To wake up one day and figure out you’re the son of a multimillionaire.”
“A dead multimillionaire.”
“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? Talk about winning the dead-father lottery.” Ramsby’s smile gained wattage, thinking of the possibilities. “Oh, yeah. That would be great. Really great!” His cell phone gave off a sharp, insistent beep and he glanced at the screen. “Gotta take this,” he said, swinging his leg off the desk and walking briskly out her door, leaving the newspaper still sitting on the desk.
More intrigued than she admitted, Alvarez skimmed the article quickly and wondered if, indeed, a new Long heir had been found.
It would certainly change things if Garrett Mays turned out to be legit.
But it would be a long shot.
Make that a Brady Long shot.
Chapter 17
Tanaka didn’t waste any time.
“Come on,” she said, just as Paterno was sliding his arms from his coat and hanging it on a hook in his office, positioned near the door. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“Road trip. To Albuquerque to interview Wynn P. Ellis, who had the misfortune of tangling with Ivy Wilde.” Paterno frowned, started to say something, but Tanaka ran right over him with, “I finally got to pore over her phone records and the cell tower pings. Tracked down the motel in the area where I think Wilde stayed. One of the receptionists at the Sunset Valley Inn ID-ed her. Local deputies had canvassed the area with pictures of Wilde that I’d e-mailed to the PD there once we thought she was in the area. I’m still betting she tried to turn her victim into ashes.”
Paterno was still standing near his coat, but he didn’t pick it up again, which made Tanaka feel impatient. He said, “I just got off the phone with Pescoli.”
“Okay . . . ?”
“Ivy Wilde is camped out at her house.”
“What? In Montana?” Tanaka was stunned. Hadn’t seen this coming.
“She showed up in Grizzly Falls early this morning after a long bus ride or two and hitchhiking.”
“You’re kidding.” Tanaka leaned against the wall, tried to put the pieces together. Why the hell would Ivy Wilde be in Montana? With Pescoli?